


memento mori

by kurapikano



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Gen, Implied Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's a long painful journey but i'll sprinkle in the humor, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, anyway buckle up, eventual leopika, good good lord, horrible huh, killua makes friends, would you believe "corpse dance" made me think of this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurapikano/pseuds/kurapikano
Summary: "Memento mori." - "Remember, you must die."-In which two ghosts wander the afterlife, lingering around the first people they saw waking up, and those people try to figure out just why the hell their cupboards keep opening like that.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 62
Kudos: 81





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello! i got the inspiration for this little fic out of the damn blue and really wanted to run with it, so here we go.
> 
> this story _will_ reference some graphic/triggering themes! i will put warnings before each chapter.
> 
> (tw: death)

_April 5th, 2011_

It was with stark realization - and a twinge of discomfort - that it dawned upon Kurapika that he was no longer present in his own body.

He was unsure how he could tell. In fact, he had yet to feel any fear settle in, and that was what was truly concerning. All he knew at the moment was that he felt cold and numb, but weightless at the same time, and that was far different from the human feeling of warmth, sense, and solid bone.

The rest of the world seemed intact.

The city buzzed behind him from his position on the ground of the alley. The trees swayed gently in the breeze. The clouds moved across the sky at a languid pace. Footsteps were rushing down the cobblestone.

_..Footsteps were rushing down the cobblestone._

Kurapika felt a pang of rousing confusion spark somewhere in his body, and he was nearly electrocuted back into a working mind by it. It was easy to say he wasn't totally numbed, that he had some form of life in his veins, that-

That there was a man hovering over him, looking downright horrified, wearing small tea shade sunglasses. Kurapika wondered if there was a mirror over his face, because that bold statement of fashion was the only horrifying thing he could see around here.

With a wrinkle of his nose, he disregarded it for the moment, instead choosing to focus on what was going on.

He heard something clank to the ground, heavy and full, and, turning his head, it was a briefcase with black and red diamonds spotting the side he could see. The clasps holding it shut glinted minorly in the shine of the distant streetlights, and he squinted, tawny brown irises trying to make sense of whatever that could possibly contain. Deciding to ignore it for now, the newly twenty-year-old blonde settled his gaze back on the man.

Ah, so they were holding hands now.

Or...the stranger was holding his wrist.

Apparently, he didn't mind the notion of taking someone out to dinner first, or simply was drunk out of his mind, but that was not quite Kurapika's primary concern as he jolted in flabbergasted shock.

_He couldn't feel it._

His wrist was being held, and he couldn't feel a _damn thing._

In a panicked fashion, the man's other hand flew to what Kurapika assumed was his neck, and, despite the stranger not being able to see - little did the smaller know - his wide-eyed gaze of horror was met with Kurapika's own.

"Damn it," the man said, voice gritty and low, "No pulse."

Last time Kurapika knew, he _definitely_ had a pulse, so one could imagine the type of shock such a statement weaved into his nerves. However, despite the paralyzing fear, his brain was still working fine, and he quickly ran over the facts he was currently aware of. They painted a rather harrowing picture.

He was cold.  
He was numb.  
He couldn't feel himself in his body.  
_He had no pulse._

Every talk his parents had ever had with him about the afterlife and death came flooding back to his head, and, with an overwhelming dread and defiance crashing into him like a wave, he realized exactly what was going on.

_He was dead._

He was dead, and the stranger was pulling his phone out of his pocket, dialing a short series of numbers before holding it to his ear with a tense, disturbed expression.

All at once, Kurapika wished he felt numb again.


	2. dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon deciding there is not much for other choices on where to go, Kurapika follows the man who found his body, and meets a fellow specter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tw: existential crisis, body horror, implied murder)

It had been about an hour since the ambulance had come to recover his body for identification, and Kurapika felt utterly numbed.

That was so for many reasons, but a pretty big one was that, upon moving his quite delicately detached spirit from his body, he'd found two hollow sockets where brown eyes had been. The sight alone was sickening, and it seemed that the man in the suit agreed, if the look in his eyes was any hint.

The difference was that Kurapika knew why they'd been taken.

Being out of his mangled corpse had given Kurapika ample time to focus a bit better on the aforementioned man, and he was certain he'd caught a name when the emergency services call was being made. He wasn't _fully_ sure, but he was about eighty-nine per-cent confident he had heard the name _Leorio._ The surname was long and harder to catch, but a first name would suffice, so the Kurta had settled with it for the time being.

However, his qualms hardly ended at first names and missing eyes, because the fact that he was _deceased_ still stood, and there were far too many things to worry about with that.

Firstly, there was coming to terms with it. Moments ago, he was alive and well, walking home from an evening stroll, and, now, apparently damned to wear black yoga pants and an oversized gray sweater for the rest of his afterlife, he was a ghost, he assumed.

Secondly, there was his _family_. That, perhaps, dug at his non-beating heart the most, because he knew that his parents would be called in to identify his body at some point.

It made him sick to imagine how his mother and father would react to seeing their child's corpse on a coroner's table, the day after his twentieth birthday.

Thirdly, where was he meant to go, now? It was clear that the afterlife did not offer hotels or real estate, and he couldn't very well decide to hop back into his body and go back to normal. There was nowhere to be but alone, and that was making a sickening pool of dread puddle in his core.

There was nothing left.

He was dead. It was over.

He couldn't go back, would never be able to go back, and he was _gone._

He hadn't exactly been given a copy of _What to Expect When You're A Specter_ , either.

So, Kurapika deduced, he would just have to trail after this _Leorio_ person, until he decided what to do with himself.

..This was truly a fever dream.

.  
.  
.

The journey back to Leorio's place was dreary and quiet, and filled with Kurapika trying to make sense of how to walk in this...ghastly form. Every step felt feather-light, and he wasn't even quite sure he was actually making contact with the ground. It felt more as if there was a thin line between the soles of his shoes and the solid pavement, and he was just walking on air - he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

It was truly eerie how the world around him still seemed so normal. The streetlights still flickered, cars continued to pass by, the wind kept howling - the world was continuing to turn, and it hadn't stopped for a second to mourn its loss of a life. It didn't even seem to notice, and Kurapika pondered whether it ever would, even when it was made to reclaim his flesh and bone back into its soil.

Suddenly, walking on the dirt was something he regretted doing, if only because he would never know if anyone had rotted into it.

..Disturbing.

Ahead of him by a few paces - no doubt thanks to the long legs - the _Leorio_ man looked incredibly deep in thought. _Understandable,_ thought Kurapika, because he was sure he'd be drowning in his mind if he had just witnessed a tampered corpse on his late night stroll.

How unsightly, really.

Every now and then, Leorio would shake his head or mutter something under his breath, brows knitted angrily above narrowed eyes. His clench around the briefcase's handle was iron-tight, and Kurapika had half a mind to grow concerned, quickening his pace to be at the man's side. Then, the muttered words became more clear.

"Damn it, if I'd just been quicker..!"

The shorter of the two felt his nose wrinkle, and he squinted, not very satisfied with that comment. There was no reason for this man to be blaming himself - it was clear as day that whoever had managed to kill him was swift, and there was little to be done about it after the fact. So, why did he feel bad?

"It's not your fault," Kurapika said, before quickly remembering that he was a ghost, and likely could not communicate with Leorio.

Great.

With a heavy sigh of displeasure - something he'd mastered in his living years - he continued on, beginning to realize what a horrible deal this whole afterlife shindig was.

He couldn't speak to anyone, couldn't be seen by anyone, and was generally nonexistent beyond the realm of a corpse. At this point in time, all he was to the physical world was a body, and some sentimental things scattered across a select few people. His spirit served little to no purpose, and that was…well, it was a little bit insulting, but mostly distressing.

It was hard to think of a solution for this.

.  
.  
.

Leorio lived in a small apartment on the east side of town, three floors up. Kurapika would have determined it to be the headquarters of a starving artist, if not for the piles of medical books in several languages that seemed to clutter whatever flat surface they could.

All in all, it was rather quaint, nothing terribly impressive - the average college student's flat, really - and it was comforting, in that sense. Nothing seemed overwhelming, and there was a generally sweet and homey vibe to it. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but-

"He has the nicest heartbeat in this city."

Kurapika flinched, quickly turning around to face the source of the voice. Oddly, the woman who had spoken was looking directly at him, as if..

"Yes, I can see you."

_Apparently a mind reader, too._

The Kurta shifted slightly, facing her more properly with a fixed gaze. "..You're dead, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you thought i could leave best girl out?? never


	3. pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua roams the afterlife pretty sneakily, but finds out that the boy he's been hanging out around has been perfectly able to see him.
> 
> He decides that Gon is a weirdo, and Gon decides that Killua is fun to be around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tw: death (as always!))

Despite having done many boring things in his life, Killua was certain that this entire afterlife ordeal was the absolute _worst_ of it.

Sure, he was still present in the world, but there was nobody to talk to. In fact, he had not yet come across a single other ghost that caught any of his attention, except for the occasional natural passing of some elderly person, who often didn't talk up much more than a few tokens of life wisdom that didn't do him much good at this point. After all, he didn't exactly have a deity to impress anymore, and he still hadn't seen one around, which forced him to wonder if they were hiding somewhere, or simply didn't exist.

He almost wanted to find out, but he didn't know where he would start, and he didn't know the possible ins and outs of it. So, instead, he preferred to play tricks on the living, which held some fun factors to it. Currently, he was, regrettably, sulking around his own home, because he hadn't figured out where that kid with the weirdly spiky black hair lived yet.

Killua's mother clacked into the kitchen on high-heel encased feet, the odd visor of sorts over her eyes making it a little difficult for him to discern exactly what she had come in for. His younger sibling, Kalluto, trailed behind her as usual, silent and observing.

All was quiet.

Except for when, with a cattish grin, Killua took hold of the cabinet handle and began banging the door open and closed with gusto, and a shriek resounded from his mother's red-painted lips.

Some things were still enjoyable, he guessed.

.  
.  
.

_April 6th, 2011_

The following day, Killua was treading around the park, where that black-haired boy always ended up for hours at a time. The pond was only a few yards away from the train tracks, which made him ill to look at, but, seeming as how fascinating the stranger his age was, he was okay with ignoring it and sitting there until the sun began to set. He turned his head at the sound of grass crunching under the soles of primarily green combat boots, before looking back down at the water and shoving his hands comfortably into the pocket of his warm-toned mauve hoodie. His cargo shorts were a cool-toned gray, and there was some comfort in the fact that, even in the afterlife, he was sporting fashion choices that his mother would abhor.

The crocs really sealed the deal. It was almost too bad nobody could see.

Within a few moments, the oddly cheerful boy was sitting cross-legged next to him, fishing pole in hand. He prepped it and cast a line out, bait bobbing in the water, and all was well.

That was, until warm brown eyes very accurately met Killua's own electric blue ones, and a jolt of tense confusion ran down the latter's spine.

"Hey! You're here again today. Do you like fishing? You don't have a pole. Do you need one? You can use mine!" the boy exclaimed, holding the rod out to him as Killua's eyes shot wide and he sputtered for words.

_What the hell what the hell what the hell what the hell-_

"Huh? What's wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost!"

Wow. Ironic.

"Wh- You're the one seeing a ghost!"

The other boy started laughing.

_Laughing._

"I'm serious!" Killua exclaimed, utterly at a loss for any other words.

"I know!"

_Then why are you laughing?!_ thought Killua, with a twinge of agitation. Then, he voiced that thought, and the laughter came to a halt, smile dropping into a concerned frown.

"I thought you knew I could see you. It was kind of obvious," he mused, looking at the water again to check on the bobber.

Killua was almost certain that there was not a single thing obvious about any of this.

"..You're weird."

What kind words of greeting.

"I'm Gon," the boy said, casually sliding the comment to the side, "I learned to sense you a long time ago! Well- to sense ghosts, and stuff. It's an aura thing! You know?"

Killua did not know.

"No."

"Oh," said Gon, intelligently. "Well, you have one! It's like, uh...a soul! You're born with it, but it leaves your body when you die, so it's still easy to sense if you learn. Mr. Wing taught me a few years ago!"

The sudden bout of information was nothing short of dizzying, and Gon must have noticed, because a sheepish chuckle followed Killua's silence.

"Sorry. That's probably a lot. But it's a good thing, right? You can talk to people, if they know it!"

"You probably look like you're out of your mind right now, to people who don't, you know. Talking to air. Weird."

"But I'm not talking to air! I'm talking to _you!"_

Killua's eyes narrowed, and a brow rose. "Yeah, but...don't you think people will think you're delusional or something? If they can't see me, they won't know what the hell you're doing."

"So?"

_So??_

"..So, you look like a weirdo."

Gon shrugged, smiling all the same.

Killua stared at him for a second before looking at the bobber, blinking slowly.

Maybe this wasn't so bad.

..The kid was still weird, though.


	4. friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua finally gets to venture to Gon's house, and a startling revelation strikes: he isn't bound to his family's rules anymore.
> 
> He just isn't sure he can unlearn them so quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which killua deserves better and gon is here to make it better
> 
> (tw: implied suicide, implied child abuse)

Finally, Killua knew where Gon lived.

After the sun had begun to set, Gon had stood and offered to have Killua over for the night, an unbearably bright smile on his face. He clearly wanted him to come stay, and, seeing as there was nowhere else to go, Killua agreed, despite being embarrassed by how effective that smile of Gon's was.

As it turned out, Gon lived on a hill in a quaint but somewhat tall house, surrounded by lush forests and a large expanse of crystal blue water. In truth, it was beautiful - much better than the dreary, dark feeling that encased his own home. The mountain was a huge bummer on its own, but the maximum security and lack of outside contact had made it near intolerable.

That, of course, wasn't as bad as what laid _inside_ the house.

Killua's lips pursed in discontent for a moment, but he quickly shook the thought off, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket as he followed Gon up the hill to the house.

"I live with my Aunt Mito and my great grandma," Gon hummed, a bounce to each step he took with his fishing pole slung over his shoulder. "They won't be able to see you, though. They don't know the aura stuff, but they know I know it! I can introduce you, at least!"

Killua followed beside him, lifting his hands to clasp behind his head. "I guess so. They're just...fine with a random kid in their house?"

"It's not like you can cause a ruckus!"

..Blunt.

Gon was blunt.

"Can too. I slammed the cupboard doors a lot to freak my mom out."

Gon winced, laughing sheepishly. "Aunt Mito might not like that. She's kind of stubborn."

"I wasn't gonna do it to you guys. I just don't like my mom. Where are your parents?"

"My dad left when I was a baby, and I don't know who my mom is! I kinda consider Mito as a mom, y'know?"

Killua clenched his teeth and sucked in air, looking at the ground. "Oh. Uh- Sorry. I thought-"

..Yeah, he was just gonna shut up now.

"Sorry? Don't be! It's fine! I'm happy with Aunt Mito. I wish I could meet Ging, and I will someday! But I'm good where I am."

"Ging?"

"My dad!"

"..You call your dad by his first name?"

Killua didn't even _want_ to ponder the kind of reaction his father would have if he addressed him by name.

"Oh! Yeah. It just feels more natural? I mean, I'm not used to having a dad or anything, and I guess his name just feels better. More appropriate," Gon mused, before looking at Killua. "Oh, hey! What's your name?"

 _Gee,_ Killua thought sarcastically, _I thought you'd never ask._

"Killua. Killua Zoldyck."

Gon stopped walking, tilting his head with concern written on his face. Killua's stomach flipped; it would appear that he knew the name.

"Zoldyck? Like...the assassins?"

"..Yeah."

"Killua Zoldyck...oh. Aren't you...I saw your name in the paper," Gon murmured, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "You're the kid who-"

"The train tracks? Yeah," Killua huffed, growing quickly uncomfortable with the topic. When Gon opened his mouth to speak, Killua raised a hand, furrowing his brows.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Gon straightened, nodding affirmatively. "Okay! You don't have to."

A silence passed, before a tanned hand was being held out to Killua's own pale one.

"It's nice to meet you, Killua!"

Killua blinked incredulously, curling his hand into a loose fist and bumping it against Gon's hand.

"..Hey."

.  
.  
.

Once they were inside the warmth of the house, Gon dragged him to sit at the table, where an elderly woman was watching curiously.

"Who are you pulling along?" she asked, voice slightly raspy, but sweet.

"Killua Zoldyck!" Gon proudly exclaimed, while the woman's face became etched with sorrow.

"Oh, that poor boy," she exhaled, knitting what appeared to be a scarf. Killua assumed this was Gon's great grandmother. "He was so young. It makes you wonder what goes on behind those big gates on that mountain."

Killua tensed, clutching the edge of the wooden table. Gon looked worried, and offered a half-given smile to the elderly woman.

"Uh- Great grandma? He's right here. I don't think-"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, looking terribly sorry. "Pardon me, Killua, I didn't even think."

Killua exhaled heavily, slumping back in his chair. "It's fine," he murmured, the hood of his sweatshirt draping over half of his eyes.

"He said it's okay!" Gon beamed, holding a thumb up.

_I wasn't that enthusiastic about it._

Before he could think further, Killua spotted a woman with strawberry blonde hair walking into the room with a confident stride. It was clear that she carried herself independently, and he sat up a bit straighter, despite knowing she couldn't see him. She set a few dishes on the table, along with three plates and sets of utensils, before placing her hands on her hips.

"What's this about Killua Zoldyck?"

"I brought him here!" Gon explained, grinning wide. "We're friends now."

Killua nearly choked on his own spit.

..Was he allowed friends now?

..Huh.

Maybe he could entertain that thought, just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MITO STANS UNITE
> 
> also, writing for gon and killua is still a little new to me, so forgive me if a few things aren't quite right! i hope to get better as it goes ❤


	5. waning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika speaks to the fellow spirit who has inhabited Leorio's apartment, and struggles to grasp the new reality of being dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this took forever! my brain was running on empty, but we are back baby
> 
> also, i want to note that chapters will usually be under 1,000 words. this is done on purpose - it is meant to feel a bit like snapshots, and create something of a memoir of life after death.
> 
> (tw: suicide mention, child abuse implication, death mention of course, murder)

Kurapika's blunt statement had been met with a nod and a humble expression of apology, seemingly for the very sudden sentence that had jarred him out of his wits.

The woman's name was Melody, he learned. She had been a travelling musician in her years, but had been battling a crippling illness that had eventually won the fight. For a few moments, she told him about the last song she had performed.

"It was on the flute," she explained, voice sounding almost far away. "It was _Pavane for a Dead Princess_ , by Ravel. Are you familiar?"

Briefly, he recalled clicking absently on a piece of that name while using classical music as background for his studies. It had been a peaceful, yet oddly melancholy piece - suitable for the name, he supposed.

..The name.

His eyes widened slightly and he blinked twice, feeling a dead weight settle in his core, despite lacking a corporeal form.

"For...a _Dead_ Princess.."

Melody's nod was solemn, the small smile that came to her face full of a silent grief. "Yes. An awful coincidence to face, isn't it? Almost foreboding," she sighed, gaze drifting to the piles of various books on the human body that stacked themselves upon a chestnut brown side table. "How odd it is, to end up in the house of a medical student, after dying from a disease. Almost unkind of the universe - taunting, maybe. But…well, where else to go?"

She was quiet for a moment before her gaze drifted to him once more, and he stiffened, awaiting whatever was to be asked.

"What brings you here, to him?"

Kurapika pondered the thought. He hardly had a solid reason - he had only trailed after this Leorio character because..

"He is the one who found my body, after…well, I have to suppose I was murdered."

Sorrow-ridden shock reached Melody's eyes, sadness etched onto her features. Clearly an empathetic type, Kurapika surmised; he was simply thankful that she did not look at him as if he were to be pitied.

"That's terrible...I believe there was just a case like that here this morning. And then, a few weeks back, the Zoldyck boy.."

Kurapika winced. He'd read about the boy in the newspaper; Killua Zoldyck, if he recalled, only a teenager, had been willingly struck by a train. Rumors were floating that the parents were to blame - most of the children seemed troubled one way or another. He felt his chest tighten, exhaling softly.

He was lucky to have such loving parents, but...now, he was dead.

Bitterly, he noted how unfair and hideously cruel the world was, before speaking.

"I heard about the Zoldyck boy. Not the other one, but it couldn't have been anyone I knew. I would have heard of it."

"I forget the name, anyhow. But, yes, that's likely true."

A comfortable silence slipped through, and Kurapika slowly began to walk through the living room. Perhaps it was nosy to peek at the books that sat upon a slightly crooked shelf - he noted that detail with distaste, how could someone not notice that? - but, then again, it would seem this was where he'd be staying for the duration of the perceivable future.

After coming across a few cheesy novels and raising a brow in amusement, he turned back to Melody, who had settled on the couch comfortably. "He doesn't know we're here, does he?"

"Oh, no. He can't see us. Most people can't."

"Most?"

A hum. "Yes - there are a few who can. Mediums, and the like? Sometimes it's a natural talent."

Kurapika let that sink in for a moment, gently pushing _The Princess Bride_ back onto the shelf where it belonged. "Is...that so? Have you come across one before?"

"Mhm. There was a girl who had attended the last concert of mine - I think her name was Neon, she said. She could see spirits, but I haven't seen her since. She was young."

"I see...hm. I wonder if any are around here. I'd like.."

She looked at him knowingly, tilting her head to a gentle angle. "To say your goodbyes?"

He felt his breath hitch in his throat, that tightness in his chest growing worse.

"..Yes."

"There may be. They aren't so rare that they're impossible to find, you know," she said, voice low and soft as if she had to whisper. Or, perhaps, that was just how she spoke.

Kurapika slowly moved to sit on the other end of the couch, posture mostly correct as his hands fell onto his lap.

"..This is all very hard to grasp."

"I know."

And, then, after the occupant and owner of the apartment seemed to be asleep, the two of them sat in silence from the time the milky light of the moon coated the Earth until the first sparks of sunlight began to come over the horizon.

Perhaps, he supposed, he could do this, so long as he had someone by his side.

An eerie calm settled over them, and he felt a surreal air, but strangely at peace.

The sun would continue to rise whether he was dead or alive.

The Earth continued to turn.

Nothing had changed.


	6. paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika begins to adjust to the nature of the afterlife, but is shaken by startling news soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tw: death (as usual), murder, somewhat graphic description of human decay)
> 
> hello! we're back, babyyy. this chapter is a bit of slice of life, up until the end, with a fair share of angst because i am mean
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> also, this chapter mentions "The Sims", which i very obviously do not own. if i did do you think i'd be writing hxh fanfiction on ao3

Truly, Kurapika would need to get used to being dead.

It had been a couple of days, now, and it was still horribly haunting to see the sun rise. The world just continued on, with or without him, and that was something he was...well, spiralling about, really.

He supposed that was the nature of decay. The Earth's soil surely was mixed with the remains of those before him, every bit of the body melted into the dirt like it had always been there. _Ashes to ashes, dust to dust_ had never felt quite so literal, nor had it ever felt so damning and empty.

In life, it had sounded so comforting. You came from the Earth, formed of stardust and constellations - or so they said - and you faded back to it when you died, like some cosmic being given form for a chunk of borrowed time. However, it was only his body doing that, he realized; his soul was still wandering as it wished, and it simply had taken his bodily shape. He still appeared as he normally did, and it would seem every movie that depicted spirits as some translucent blue was packed with lies, because, to him, he appeared no different. He was still opaque, indeed - his presence in the world had simply disappeared, as if nobody suspected that he had ever been upon it.

Though, if he was going to die, Kurapika found it a little irritating that he wasn't at least freed from binding for eternity.

But...it wasn't uncomfortable anymore.

Nothing hurt physically, anymore, but his heart still throbbed when he reflected upon his parents, his aunts, his uncles, his grandparents..

_Pairo._

He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

·  
·  
·

For the morning's duration, Kurapika's mind had lingered on his very best friend. As children, he had been more reckless than the younger, more filled with spunk and cheer. As he had matured, Kurapika had grown quieter and surprisingly mellow. His father often commented that he was just like his mother in his youth, but had grown to resemble him more.

His chest ached.

He missed his father's low, wispy tone of voice.

Kurapika remembered the strip of newspaper stored in his baby book from the April of the year he was born clearly. In the column of births, just a few names down the list, his little piece of history sat.

_"April 4th - A healthy baby was born to parents Ado and Ferah, and given the name Kurapika. ( 7 pounds, 1 ounce, 17 inches in length. )"_

His mother often gushed that he was the cutest little baby in the world, and commented about how tiny he was. There were tinier babies out there, he knew, but he had never stopped her babbles. She would tell him the same stories of his birth and baby years over and over again, whether she remembered if she had told them or not, and he was always happy to listen.

The outpour of love in her eyes made him feel warm in the chest.

Vividly, he remembered one of those times, back when they were going through things to sell during a summer yard sale.

·  
·  
·

_"I can't get rid of this! This is all precious stuff, here!"_

_"I never said we should sell it-"_

_"I know! I'm just putting my foot down now before one of the boys mistakes it for junk, and tries to put it out!"_

_Kurapika, at the age of twelve - something he was boasting proudly, because he was 'totally grown up now' - was already more than used to hearing his mother speak louder than she really had to. Normally, he would be annoyed, but, this time.._

_It was interesting._

_That was what had then lead him to drag Pairo over, and immediately pounce on his mother's shoulder, hanging his arms over her torso and talking far too loud, far too close to her ear._

_Truly, he was just like her._

_"What're you talking about?"_

_His mother hardly startled - she was too used to her child doing this very same thing nearly every single day - and she held up a baby rattle, shaking it for Pairo, who could not see it, only hear it._

_"Your baby stuff. This is your old rattle! Do you remember it? You used to be so upset if you ever had it away from you! You got so mad about it in the middle of the store when you were...eight months old, maybe? You grabbed a box of rice, instead, and shook it so hard you dropped it! It was everywhere, and I had to pay for it, but I can't stay mad at you. You were so cute, I couldn't fault you for it!"_

_"Were? Am I not cute now?" he teased, giggles coming after his words._

_"No way," Pairo interjected, poking at Kurapika's cheeks. "You're old now. Look, you're gettin' all wrinkly," he gasped, scrunching up the skin with his fingers to make little rolls, that could have passed as wrinkle-like. "Yuck!"_

_Kurapika swatted at the hands on his face, whining. "Am not!"_

_"Are so!"_

_For a moment, the two children held a steely gaze at each other. Shortly after, they both burst into laughter, running off back to the swingset in the backyard._

_Neither of them noticed how fondly Ferah was watching them._

·  
·  
·

"Are you okay?"

Kurapika was just barely snapped out of his thoughts by Melody's voice, flinching slightly when he noticed her presence on the other side of the couch.

He cleared his throat, smoothing out his hands on his lap as he straightened his posture back to dignity. "Yes- Yes. I'm alright. I was just...thinking."

Slowly, tawny eyes wandered to actually look at the woman, and he blinked a few times, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"..You have different clothes on."

A silence passed where they simply stared at each other and blinked, intelligently.

"..Uh-huh. What about it?"

"You can change clothes?"

Another pause followed before Melody's eyes widened and an amused grin surfaced. "Oh, right! I forgot to tell you," she mused, turning slightly to face him better. "You can change easily. It's not the same as being alive, but, uh...you know that computer game? _The Sims,_ I think it was?"

Kurapika raised a brow, that having been the last question he'd quite expected. "..Yes?"

"Alright. So, when they change clothes, they kind of just...instantly do it?"

"Right."

"Okay. That's how it works here. You just think of an outfit, and close your eyes, and it'll happen."

..This was so cliché, he almost felt his eyes roll into the back of his head.

"..Alright...just...think of it? And...that's it?"

"Yes."

He supposed that was fair enough, despite how odd it was.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, but became quickly frustrated when he realized he had no clue what exactly he wanted to summon onto himself.

"You can just think of a general theme, and that works, too."

Ah. That was much easier.

_'Maybe...just something simple.'_

His eyes opened carefully, and, when he glanced down, he was met with a somewhat oversized sweater, the color of an orange autumn leaf, and black leggings that fit quite nicely. Fuzzy socks of the same color as the leggings were on his feet, and, frankly, he was entirely satisfied.

..Comfortable, mostly.

"..Huh. That's-"

"Weird?"

"..Yeah."

·  
·  
·

Leorio's apartment was simple and mostly tidy, aside from the piles of books and clothes that gathered here and there. His dishes seemed to always be in the sink - though, the way they piled up as of late made Kurapika want to pull his hair out - and things were relatively well-kept.

However, the way he never made his bed drove Kurapika a special kind of nuts, and it was all he could do not to grab them and fix them himself.

He wasn't even sure if he could.

Over the days, he had noticed the man looking more and more tired every time he walked back through the door from classes. There was a dullness in his eyes, and bags under them, and it took Kurapika only a little bit to realize that it was...probably from witnessing a corpse. _His_ corpse, in particular - that made him feel a slight guilt, and, tonight, it was making him wish he had tried to make the bed and do the dishes as he watched Leorio walk through the door again, locking it behind him as usual, a bag and a newspaper in hand.

_'A newspaper..'_

Perhaps that would hold some information about his death, and what had happened. He still wasn't wholly sure what had gone down, nor where his body was and what was going on now - it would be beneficial to look, surely.

He waited until it plopped onto the dining table before he shuffled over, attempting to be quiet despite having the feeling Leorio would be unable to hear him. The newspaper's headline was grim, but, to his surprise, it stated that two murders had been committed - not just one.

Skimming briefly, he stopped when he saw his name, and, shortly after, Pairo's. Surely, this meant Pairo had testified something, or made some sort of comment...perhaps he even did something.

Was he ready to read something like that?

..He had to.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the sentence.

His very next inhale caught in his throat.

_"The fateful day marked the death of two boys, identified by first name as Kurapika, who had recently had a birthday, and Pairo - the former's parents testify that the two were inseparable. The police have yet to comment on what they think, or if this may have something to do with the case."_


	7. felt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua is thankful for the love he's being given, but he's rueful, just the same.
> 
> Love is only so much after it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi baby we're back
> 
> (CW: CHILD ABUSE/NEGLECT, mentions of suicide. tread carefully - serious themes ahead.)

As it would turn out, Killua was finding that he was growing more glad by the day that he was allowing himself to indulge in the concept of having a friend.

For once, he felt needed and wanted, both at the same time. Gon was always ecstatic to talk to him, nearly bouncing in his seat or on his heels when he had something to tell him or rant about, and Killua was sure he had only ever seen his younger siblings so excited to talk to him, eyes glittering and bright. Gon himself was like a beam of sunshine, always high energy and babbling off about frogs or lizards or something else entirely niche and weird, and, as much as he stunned him, Killua was drawn to it like a moth with torn wings.

Gon made him feel important. Valued. 

_Worthy._

As a child in a house that was all filled with punishment and a strict aversion to failure of any caliber, he had only found scraps of worth when he was useful for something. Love was twisted into a complex of people only being worth something if they served a purpose, and Killua wondered if that was what had made his elder siblings the way they were. Had they, too, been contorted into child soldiers from a young age, made cold and devoid of passions? Was that why his eldest brother's eyes always looked empty? Was it an inherited trait to have the life sapped out of you, left to feel like an unfinished puppet with nothing but an empty, hollow shell and dead eyes?

Maybe the scars were inherited too, and the loud voices haunting your psyche. Maybe it was inherited to flinch at heavy footsteps or clacking heels. Maybe it was inherited to walk from the backs of your feet to your tiptoes, to make sure you didn't make a sound when you snuck to get food after being told you ought to go without it for your crimes.

The crimes were nothing more than being a child, but that wasn't allowed. Children were naïve and sensitive.

Children were impressionable, and that was what made it so easy for his parents, and so hard for him.

The thought of a warm, loving home was horribly absurd to Killua, in short. Perhaps that was why it felt so odd to be here, to be surrounded by sunlight and comradery, when he had often spent his time under a blanket and praying he could wake up somewhere else.

He was waking up somewhere else, now, but at what cost?

How much was a human life worth?

A lot, he guessed, judging by the way the newspaper that had told of his untimely death described it.

The night Gon had brought him back to his house, Killua had effectively snuck down into the kitchen and leaned over the dinner table, where the headline struck him in the moonlight.

He wondered how much money someone was being paid to write about his unbearable suffering and the consequences of it in some Times New Roman font, and what they were doing with it. He wondered if they thought about him, or any kid like him, and if they felt the horror he thought any normal person ought to feel. Of course, he would never know - it wasn't one of those things he could find out, and he'd have to deal with that, but he hated sitting with the fact that someone was being paid to write about his tragic ending, rather than about someone having done something to prevent it in the first place.

The world just wasn't that sweet.

•  
•  
•

In the next days after that, Killua had begun to slowly learn what love looked like. He was witnessing the reality of what family was meant to be, and, while the warmth was extended to him, he felt somehow cold. For a little bit, he'd been unsure what it was, but, one afternoon, as he watched them eat lunch and chat, he realized.

He was jealous. He was bitter.

Not once had he ever gotten to sit and have a rewarding, comfortable meal with his family. Not once had his mother tucked him in like Gon's aunt did. Not once had his grandfather been nearly as doting and willing to chat about things that didn't matter like Gon's grandmother was. Never in his life had he ever gotten hugged, or patted on the head, or given a warm meal, and, with a bad taste in his mouth, he remembered that he never would, nor would he have if he had stayed. His house had been cold and barren, and it still was - he was just dead.

As lovely as Gon's family was - and, for the love of all good, it was - Killua couldn't help but wish he could have had the same. He yearned for a father that would play catch outside with him. He yearned for a mother that would sing lullabies to him and pack him sandwiches with the crust cut off when he went outside for a while.

He yearned for love.

He had some, now, yes, but there was one truth that made him want to kick a wall and scream into the void.

It was far too late.


	8. sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua ponders a life of hurt and what could have been, and a specter with a familiar face pops up with news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im alive
> 
> (TW: child abuse, suicide mention, perhaps mild body horror but not gore)

The rest of the day, after his bout of envy he couldn't swallow down, Killua felt more like a ghost than ever.

He didn't need to sleep anymore, so he spent the time that Gon fell asleep in the early evening sun wandering the house. It was peaceful, cathartic — he had never felt much like it. He had gotten peace like this a few times in life, when the house was all asleep and he got to look out his window at the sky full of stars. Sunset was never enjoyable, because it was spent with him and all of his siblings holding their breath to avoid somehow managing to do something wrong. Though his two elder brothers were a bad product of pain, people who were changed by it so drastically whatever they could have been was no longer visible, they were still, somewhere in their core, scared little kids.

Instinct was hard to unlearn.

Maybe that was why Killua still flinched when he heard footsteps that weren't any of his family's coming down the hall, or when Mito lightly but gently scolded Gon for small things, nothing more than a simple _"Don't waste food,"_ or a _"Don't track mud."_ He was, in some part of him, still frightened by things that were nothing to fear.

He was only fourteen.

He was only a child.

But, like before, he was still able to enjoy the small moments of assured safety. Unlike before, he was assured safety all the time, and he could enjoy the sunset, without having to worry that someone would catch him breathing too hard.

Being invisible to everyone but Gon was almost comforting. Being able to disappear and hide from everyone and everything he wanted was all he had prayed for on the worst of nights, and, though the price had been large, he supposed he got it.

Walking down the corridor, soles of his feet just barely touching the ground, he reached a windowsill and slumped against it. His arms folded on top of it, and he plopped his chin down to rest there, cerulean hues reaching for the painted orange and red splashes extending across the sky. White puffs of clouds floated by lazily, the wind barely present in the early April night.

April 13th, he was pretty sure.

A heavy sigh left tired lungs, blooming out to his ribs on his next exhale. He didn't have to breathe, either, probably, but it made him feel a little more human.

A little bit alive.

A little worthy of hope.

He could see slivers of the ocean from his spot, deep blue sparkling in the lowering sun. Outside of his house, the world seemed so beautiful — maybe it was. Maybe the world was beautiful, and the rotten people ruined it. If one apple in a bunch was rotting, it didn't mean the rest had to be.

But, at the same time, decay was a natural state, and apples from the same bunch rotted together.

He didn't like the bushel he came from.

He wished he had been the apple that was taken out before it festered away, to be made into something so different it didn't even look like an apple anymore.

But, in the end, he was left as a wilting core, thinned down to the brink of snapping and dropped into the dirt.

.  
.  
.

About an hour later, he was still perched at the window, as the sun was just dying out. He almost felt somewhere else, like he was floating within time itself, when fast footsteps came down the hall.

He startled, tripping back from the glass and landing promptly on the ground.

What was the point of being a ghost if he couldn't even float up to catch himself?

"Ki~llua! There you are!"

Well, apparently the boy who woke up with the sun woke up when it went away, too.

Just as Killua managed to sit cross-legged on the floor, Gon plopped down next to him, before getting up on his knees and scooting to the window. It was low enough to peek out of that way, and he groaned in disappointment, posture dramatically slouching.

"Aw, man! I missed it."

"Missed what? The sun going down?"

"Yeah!"

Killua wrinkled his nose, shrugging and shuffling over to peer out with him. "So? It happens every night. It's not like you can't see it again."

Gon blinked, as if he couldn't believe Killua would ever suggest such a thing. "So? That's one less time I'll ever see it! I wanna see it as many times as I can!"

"What, like, when you die?"

"No! You can still see it, and you're dead."

Killua was growing tired of this random bluntness the other boy had, but he couldn't really be angry — Gon was...very clearly oblivious to how absurd that was to just _say_ to someone.

"Then what?"

"The sun is gonna explode in...something-billion years, and then what?"

"That's something-billion years from now, dummy. You get tired of it eventually."

The older boy's nose scrunched up before brown eyes looked back out at the stars that began to pluck through the pitch black sky. "Did you? I don't. It looks different every day, if you really look. I don't think nature would be boring enough to get tired of! I think you don't look hard enough."

"The hell is there to look at? It's the same handful of colors."

"The clouds! The clouds change. And sometimes there's more orange in the sky than red, and sometimes pink, or even purple! You can't just look at it from a window, either! You're not seeing enough of it that way."

After speaking, Gon turned to directly face Killua, a beaming grin on his face.

"Tomorrow night, let's go outside and watch on the cliff together, okay? I'll show you!"

There was no way the sky was interesting enough to go all the way to a cliff and stare at it, but, somehow, Killua found it difficult to say no to him. His labrum parted to answer, and—

And then a pale, childlike face with cascading black hair appeared at the window.

The reactions between the boys were very different.

Killua shouted in shock, falling backwards _again_ , while Gon simply looked like someone had just told him they got the cool new toy of the year.

What followed was even more troubling to the former.

Gon broke out into a damned _smile._

"Nanika!"

A giggle came, and Killua redirected his eyes to observe what was maybe the most jarring person he'd ever laid eyes on.

It was a little girl with a ghastly pallor, and almost inhumanely smooth features, which included...entirely hollow eye sockets, and a wide smile that was...hollow, as well.

But he knew that face. He knew that hair.

Nanika was not her name, though.

Her name was Alluka, and she was his baby sister. Why was she...in a window?

"Her name's not Nanika."

Gon looked at him, dumbfounded. "Of course it is. She didn't have a name, so I named her. She's a ghost."

He propped open the window while Killua stared, eyes wide in something like horror. A ghost…that made no sense. Alluka was alive, he knew that much, and—

..No, no, it couldn't be that.

But...he guessed it didn't hurt to check.

As the little girl floated in through the window (which he'd have to ask her to teach him later, if he wanted to stop falling like an idiot), he scooted closer, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Before he could say anything, she perked up and clapped her hands.

"Killua!"

Silence dropped like bricks, and his eyes were wide again. He could feel Gon's on him, too, surely imploring, and that was enough to confirm his suspicions. He exhaled, calming himself before his voice came out.

"You're Alluka's, uh — friend, right? The one she's always talking about."

The nod that answered the question was accented with a giggle, before she turned to Gon again, pointing directly at Killua.

"I know him! He's dead. Alluka is sad about it."

All at once, Killua's non-beating heart broke into a million pieces.

He didn't say anything.

.  
.  
.

A good handful of minutes later, loose ends of introduction had been tied up, and they were back to chatter, even if Killua's mind still lingered on his little sister. However, as she could see Nanika, he supposed she could still see him too if he went back, so there was some comfort.

Some.

He was broken from a trance when Nanika seemed to remember something, and then pointed out the window.

"I was in the city today, and I found a boy older than us. He's...um, eighteen, I think! He's dead, though."

Apparently, she liked to be blunt, too. He surmised that nobody around here had decent boundaries or social skills, some form of disapproval etched onto his face. Frustrating, really.

Gon seemed to be fine with it, though, as he leaned forward and beamed. "Really? Who is it?"

"His name's Pairo!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's coming


	9. reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pity isn't always a dirty thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi did you miss me
> 
> tw: graphic-ish description of pain??, death but we know this by now

God, it hurt. It hurt so inexplicably bad, like a dull ache in the core of his chest, clawing up his throat and scratching its nails at it until it began to bleed. He wanted to scream, wanted to take his anger and sorrow out on something, but he couldn't. Vines of wrath and grief were crawling and squeezing around the column of his neck, every blooming thorny rose digging into the flesh and making it hard to breathe. He was lucky to be dead, for he would have fallen to it otherwise, but, at the same time, it rang true that he hadn't been there to save him.

His best friend was dead, likely only beds away in the morgue from him, and he had not been able to do anything, nor had he even known until now. Surely, this meant the spirit was wandering about somewhere, but that didn't change the estrangement, the horror, the gutting pain that accompanied that knowledge.

There was no reason Pairo had to be gone like him.

All Kurapika wanted was to set fire to something, to douse himself in cold shower water, something to satisfy or quell his burning rage that scorched his core like he'd been punched, but there was no option for that. He was sentient, but had no means of humanity left to force his bottled emotions back down, and that left them spraying wildly from his throat like hellfire in a wail that only echoed to him.

Him, and the little woman at the door of the bathroom he had hidden himself in, eyes imploring and gentle, yet swimming in grief. In  _ pity. _

Kurapika  _ hated _ pity.

While feeling bad for someone was not inherently problematic, or disrespectful, it only made him realize more and more of what a fool he had to look like, screaming to only one person who could even hear him, and he couldn't stand it.

More than that, he only realized more and more how piteous he was.

He crumpled to the floor of the shower, burying his face in his knees and punching the wall, no damage being done, just the echo of the impact that only the dead could hear.

Melody's voice carried through, but weaned off at the end.

"Kurapika..?"

He didn't answer, teeth clenched to keep his sobs held in where he decided they belonged.

—

It was an hour or so later that Kurapika had ceased his tears, and, with the small comfort that the knowledge that he could seek out and find Pairo in his mind, he was able to hole himself into the corner of the couch, feeling emptiness swell in the husk of his ribs.

The TV was on, some old western on the screen with a dame in lavish dresses and a town sheriff speaking in a bar. The sepia light projected onto the items on the coffee table, old soda cans and coffee mugs stained with the grounds in rings with plastic snack cake wrappers danced between them. Melody had decided to go on rounds to hospitals to comfort the dying and greet them to the afterlife, something she often did. Kurapika found it highly admirable — she was a good person.

Mentally strong, too, most likely.

He knew he'd never be able to do that. It would bring about grief in bucketfuls, and he didn't have the energy for that.

His thoughts were cut short when the weight on the couch changed, and brown hues fluttered over, widening slightly when they landed on the owner of the house slumped against the back cushions. There was maybe a foot of space between them, and Kurapika couldn't help but stare. It was perhaps rude, definitely intrusive — especially since he was living without rent or notice in his home — but he was captivated.

The man, Leorio, although looking drained, was an adonis, to be sure. Stately and chiseled, he was built like a fine statue, seeming to be all rippling muscle and sharp figures. He wore a black tank top and sport shorts of the same color, contrasting tan skin, and radiated warmth, both in a temperature sense and an emotional sense. For all his rigid physique, he seemed soft, and Kurapika almost yearned to test that out.

Of course, the man wouldn't notice if he did, but that didn't make it more rightful to him — in fact, he wanted him to notice, wished he could see his face and maybe stare at him with half the awe Kurapika's eyes held.

Kurapika himself was aware of his own beauty — he was androgynous, to be sure, and that helped when he realized he was more comfortable with identifying as nonbinary. Blonde hair fell in loose ringlets around a heart shaped face, nose and cheekbones sharp. His skin was tan, too, but a bit lighter than Leorio's, a cool ivory that made his hair stand out against it. Long eyelashes framed wide, almond shaped caramel eyes, sharp and piercing. Ruby drop earrings dangled at both sides of his face, and he was an ectomorph in shape, short and lithe. That said, he was strong, and lean.

Most did not realize that upon meeting, but that only made things easy for him if things got sour.

The light of the setting sun cast a golden glow over the man next to him, and Kurapika's gaze could not help but linger on skin stretched taut over firm muscle, the man's dark brown eyes shutting as he sighed something heavy.

Dark ringlets matted under them, like he'd been losing sleep, losing energy.

Kurapika could deduce it to college stress, but he knew there was more to it, more likely than not. He knew exactly what it had to be, and it made guilt settle in his chest, even though it had not been his fault.

He couldn't see a way anyone could be fully okay after witnessing a dead body, and, with the way the man had seemed to blame himself as Kurapika had followed him home, it was almost certain that he felt some loitering shame for not being there in time. Leorio was a medical major, he'd found out — no doubt he wanted to prevent things like this.

It would seem as if Kurapika understood pity, now.

He did not find Leorio piteous as a person, of course not. In fact, the man seemed respectable and noble, with the sort of career he looked to be after. Kurapika had some degree of reverence for him for that reason; no, the man was not a pity.

He only felt pity for the fact that the poor bastard had been met with all this, and already deemed it a failure on his part.

At that moment, Kurapika craved more than ever to be able to say something, to touch him and reassure him, but there was nothing he could do.

He was just a ghost, and Leorio was just a man, and those were infinitely different things.


	10. revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika opts to trail Leorio and learn more, but he gets more than he really bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello

By the next morning, Kurapika had gotten an idea on how to be near Leorio, to learn the man. As far as he knew, he knew just about nothing — the man was a mystery to him so far, besides his college major and a gorgeous face.

So, he resolved to ride in the car with Leorio as he drove to campus.

It was odd, now, not having to open a door to get inside of a vehicle. He could easily just slip in, and it seemed cliché, like something out of a movie he never would have  _ actually  _ believed, but it was...incredibly real.

How unfortunate, then, to have not believed what was  _ apparently _ prepping him for ghost life all these years.

Leorio's car was nothing flashy, exactly, but it was nice. It was dark onyx and sleek, shiny and clearly well-polished. It looked a little beat up, and he knew already that Leorio was no 1%, but he preferred it, actually. It was more comfortable, more "at home", and more human.

Leorio seemed very human.

Kurapika's eyes danced along the small trinkets in the car, from the tacky fuzzy dice to the envelopes stuffed into the foldable mirrors. Water bottles, empty, were scattered here and there on the floor and console, clearly from fast paced days during school where he had to run about and rush himself, but still remain semi-healthy and functional. He sank into the seat and closed his eyes as the hum of the engine starting gently fluttered to life, and he was a little happy he couldn't be seen — he needed this peace, needed this silence.

Even so, he did wish the man could see him, in the hopes that he'd be just as stunned as Kurapika himself.

He probably would be, Kurapika thought smugly to himself — the blonde was pretty, and he knew it, and he said it. He had gotten many compliments on his wide brown eyes, and his wavy blonde ringlets of hair, seraphic and beautiful, and he owned them well.

Any unrest with himself was to do with his inside, not the outside.

—

The first stop Leorio made was at a humble little coffee shop, a rusty sign swinging with a deafening creak that made Kurapika want to shrivel up and wilt. Even so, the rest was charming; a chalkboard displayed in minty green writing what the brew of the day was, as well as the fresh pastries, and he found his mouth watering slightly at the thought of a strawberry cupcake, having to turn his eyes away if he ever hoped to cope with and suppress it.

Technically, he  _ could  _ have gotten one without having to pay, but that would have weighed slightly on his already poor, guilty conscience, and that would not do. He could eat like this — Melody had told him so — but he did not have to, so that made secret theft feel like it was not a reasonable option.

Maybe some other time, if he got  _ really _ tempted.

Of course, his craving for something heavy and taste-packed only grew worse as Leorio returned with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee, black with small amounts of sugar and large amounts of creamer. It smelled like hazelnut — another thing he had enjoyed while alive.

He turned to nestle into the corner of the seat, biting his index finger's middle knuckle as he tried to will away his sense of smell. It was near irresistible, even if he was more of a tea person, and the scent was like an aphrodisiac. If he remembered right, coffee  _ was  _ an aphrodisiac, actually...which was not making his heart beat any slower.

It was undeniable how stunning Leorio looked in the early morning sun, golden rays highlighting a strong physiognomy like something out of a museum. It took his breath away, made his ribs ache with desire and affliction, and it was damn near offensive.

He longed so deeply to trace each poised bone with his deft fingers, and feel calloused ones do it back to every square inch of him, holding him near and dear like there was nothing in the world to Leorio but  _ Kurapika, Kurapika, Kurapika _ .

Alas, he could not savor such things, nor was he sure he'd ever be able to. He wasn't even positive he felt touch from the living, and he knew they did not feel his. To experiment, however, he reached his hand out to cup the larger, and…

..Felt nothing.

His heart practically sunk out of existence, a dread and yearning drowning his lungs like thick tar. He craved so badly to know the warmth of the man, to be within a beautiful embrace, and, yet, his body was cold.

Kurapika dug himself into the corner again, eyes shutting as the feeling of the sun hit his cheeks. How cruel, that he could feel all but the touch of another, and how cruel that it would be so when he needed it the most. His best friend had been killed alongside him, he was never going to feel his mother's embrace again or his father's pats on the back, he couldn't adjust to—

"Leorio!"

His eyes snapped open at the shout, wide and blinking frantically as he tried to source it. Before he could, Leorio was making a noise of pleasant shock, and pulling over with a grin Kurapika was mesmerized by.

Gods, it was beautiful.

When the car slowed to a stop, all Kurapika saw was a boy with dark, spiky hair and big brown eyes, another boy with messy white curls and cerulean hues, and a little girl with a mask-like face and cutely done long black hair.

"Leorio!" said the dark haired boy, "Hi!"

"Hey, Gon," Leorio hummed happily, leaning an arm out the window and smiling wide. The boy's — Gon's — dark eyes flickered to Kurapika, which had his heart stopping.

_ How was he — ? _

"Leorio, who's that behind you? And why are they staring at you like that?" Gon asked, giggling at the end like he knew something Leorio didn't.

..It seemed like he did.

Leorio looked dumbfounded, utterly baffled, before he tensed and moved forward.

" _ What?!  _ One of your little ghost friends has been tailing me and you haven't  _ said  _ anything?"

"They're not one of the ones I know! I wouldn't ask who it was if they were!"

Kurapika was glad he went by he and they, because this was the most fucked up gender euphoria in the world, but it was gender euphoria.

"How would I know who they are?!"

"They look like they like you! I just figured —"

Kurapika swore that claim almost made him die a second time.

Good gods.


End file.
